


A Friendly Kiss

by JaneDavitt



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray gets it wrong, then Fraser makes it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friendly Kiss

Ray watches Malone get led away, cuffed, humbled, caught, damnit, and turns to Fraser with a triumphant smile.

“Will you look at that. We got him. Seventy hours stakeout—”

“Seventy-three hours, fourteen minutes and--”

“Searching. We searched, Fraser. Every dive, every bar, every church, every strip club.”

“When you put it like that, it makes one wonder why it didn’t occur to us to narrow our search earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. One of these things isn’t like the other. Doesn’t matter. He’s going down.”

He’s too full of exuberance to mind Fraser’s mild sarcasm and yeah, so sleep-deprived he can’t talk without the words clashing into each other in his brain and reaching his mouth in a tangled mess. He wants to thank Fraser for sticking by his side through the last few weeks of investigating, but Fraser doesn’t accept thanks for doing his duty. So he leans in, plants his palms against Fraser’s cheeks and lays a kiss on his mouth when Fraser opens his lips to say something.

It’s a messier, wetter kiss than he’d planned. Instinct takes over. His tongue plays slip ’n slide and his fingers curl, holding Fraser’s head at the exact, precise angle the kiss needs to get dirty-sweet. He’s dirty, Fraser’s sweet. He likes it that way.

Except Fraser’s stiff as if he’s on duty and what the fuck is he _doing_ here? Kissing Fraser like he’s got a right to take that mouth, taste it. Own it. He doesn’t. 

He pulls back. Wipes his mouth. Mountie spit. Maple syrup flavored, except no, not really. Smiles.

“That was nothing. Meant nothing.”

It’s dark behind the church. A random bullet had shattered the security light and Fraser’s face is hard to make out and yet Ray can see everything he’s feeling. Confusion, hurt.

Fraser’s voice is steady when he replies. Maybe a little sad. “Everything means something, Ray.”

This is drowning. No air. Words need air. His brain needs it too and there isn’t any left in the world because Fraser took it in the kiss. He sucks in emptiness and makes it do. “Fine. It meant we’re friends.”

“A friendly kiss.” It’s like Fraser’s tasting the words, identifying every ingredient and sprinkle of seasoning. 

“Exactly. You got it.” The air fills up with oxygen and all the other stuff in needs to make Ray’s lungs stop burning. He pokes Fraser’s chest approvingly. Somewhere along the line it turns into a pat. Through the thick sweater and whatever the hell layers of clothing lie underneath, he swears he feels the thud of Fraser’s heart. “A kiss between friends.”

“We _are_ friends.” And now it’s Fraser talking to himself. “Yes. I see.” He smiles, the glitteringly bright one that means he’s unhappy. “But friends though we undoubtedly are, I’d prefer it if you chose an alternative method of demonstrating that in a tactile manner.”

Translated – and it _needs_ translating, it means, don’t kiss me again, like ever, Ray.

In Canadian.

And that’s reasonable. Guys kissing guys isn’t Fraser’s thing. Ray gets that. It’s not his, except those times when it is and even then, the kisses aren’t what he remembers. The tender, used rawness of his ass and the way a cock in his mouth makes his eyes slide closed, always, yeah. Kisses? Not so much.

But he can’t forget kissing Fraser.

Two days later, he tests the water with a hug when Fraser walks up to his desk. Guys do that. He’s a guy, Fraser’s a guy. They’ve hugged. But he doesn’t slap Fraser’s back and he kinda forgets to let go. 

Fraser’s bigger when he’s being hugged. Big like the polar bear park they have up there in Canada, spreading over the map like the bears need space to wander. He’s a continent, a planet, and yet Ray’s arms fit around him just fine. He breathes in and gets a hit of pure Fraser, soap and starch and under it the man himself and that, there are no words for that. Ray wants to peel Fraser like a banana, get him naked, and take a bite. Maybe the hat can stay on. 

He’s a second away from humping Fraser’s leg when Fraser steps back.

“Good morning, Ray.”

No one’s looking at them. Years of weirdness and it’s like people don’t see it anymore. He could do the peel and nibble right here on his desk and probably get away with it. Fraser would meet any questions with a patient explanation involving a seal and an Inuit orphan and everyone would nod and smile and walk away.

“Fraser.”

“And that was?” Fraser flicks the air between them like a cat batting a scrap of paper. “No, wait. I’ve got it. A friendly hug between friends.”

“That’s it exactly.” He sighs when Fraser sighs and saves the guy the trouble of spelling it out. “No more hugs?”

Fraser smiles, remote as a star. “Thank you kindly, Ray.”

The next day, he picks Fraser up at his place and Fraser holds out his hand in greeting. Ray takes it, shakes it, and raises his eyebrows. “A handshake?”

“It means something,” Fraser tells him. “Between friends, strangers, even enemies. It’s a symbol of—”

“No, Fraser. Not now, okay?”

Fraser could talk for the next ten minutes if Ray let him, spilling out the stored knowledge in his head from all those books he reads like a burning log spills out stored sunlight, but Ray doesn’t want to hear it.

Not when his hand is warm from Fraser’s clasp and getting warmer. The kiss, the hug; Fraser broke free of them, but he’s holding Ray’s hand without showing signs of ever letting go. Flex of muscles, a sheen of sweat gluing their palms, and oh God, Fraser’s rubbing his thumb over Ray’s knuckles, the barest shift of skin on skin but it sears him like lightning.

He catches his breath and tries to tug away because it’s good, it’s great, but it’s _not enough_ and that _hurts_.

Oh. That’s why— _Oh._

Fraser tightens his grip as if he’s willing to fight for Ray’s hand and that phrase means something else somewhere else, but somewhere else stopped existing a minute ago. There’s only this. A room, a man holding his hand, and a terrible sense of frustration like ozone in the air.

Time to test a theory. “Strangers shake hands. We’re not strangers.”

“No,” Fraser agrees. “We’re friends.”

He makes it sound like the worst kind of insult. That stings. Ray doesn’t have many friends and those he does he’d die for. Yeah. He would. For Fraser, he would. Because it’d be keeping something special in the world if he saved Fraser’s life.

“No law that says we can’t be more than that. Friendship’s the base. You get a pizza and you add your toppings. Sprinkle on some onions, add a green pepper or two. Why don’t you think about that, then tell me what I can do to you if we’re choosing toppings, Fraser.”

“That’s an interesting—”

He’s not a patient man. “Hug you, maybe?”

“I believe you could.”

“And kissing? Is that on the menu?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

He has to warn Fraser before this goes any further. “I’m an all-dressed, fully-loaded kind of guy when it comes to pizza.”

Fraser smiles, slow and dirty, not sweet at all, except this is Fraser and the sweetness is always there if you scrape the surface. “I believe you’ll enjoy the meal more if you undress, but if I’m wrong, I’m willing to attempt this fully clothed.”

“Oh, now you know I didn’t mean—”

He gets that far and then Fraser kisses him.

They stumble around like toddlers learning to walk, lip-locked and bodies tight, ricocheting off a table and a wall, a dance with an aim.

Bedroom.

And when they get there, it’ll be official what they are. What they’ve always been.

Partners.


End file.
